Because God Loves Us
by Skadiyoko
Summary: What exactly has Feliciano been hiding from Ludwig? The answer is something the German would have never guessed in a million years. Feliciano dosn't want Ludwig to hate him. Will this enlightenment scare away his best friend? RomaHeta!Italys WARNING: Stigmata


***bounces* Guess what? That's right my bunnies, another oneshot! I must admit, I'm a little scared about this one. Just promise to PLEASE not get mad at me. Pretty please? With chocolate and sprinkles and PruCan on top?**

**One, this takes place in St. Peter's Basilica. I gave it very vague description because no matter how much I tried to figure the place out, it's just SO FUCKING HUGE! Seriously! And I'm sorry, but I AM NOT watching a National Geographic hour and a half long special on you tube on the place. I would like to go there one day though, it looks absolutely beautiful~.**

**Feliciano is not an idiot! I don't like how people make him a dimwit. -_- He's not stupid, he's just a bit of an airhead. **

**Finally, don't be offended by anything I say. The Pope is not a villain or anything, he's just kind of an antagonist. You'll see why, but don't be all like, "OMG YOU SATIN WORSHIPER! YOU SHOULD GO DIE!" 'Cause that's just not true or cool. :/ Maybe I should say the Pope is OOC? But it's not like I know the guy! XD! …And if Benedict XVI is reading this…then… then… I just don't know what I'd do. Seriously, wouldn't you just shit if THE FREAKIN' POPE read Hetalis fan fictions? *shot* **

**Alright alright, on with the show!**

**.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.**

To put it simply, Ludwig was uncomfortable. It's not that he's never been to Church before -hell, most of his people were either Catholic or Protestant- but the tall German had never been in a Church so extravagant and crowded. St. Peter's Basilica looked hard enough to navigate on a map, but actually trying to in person was about a thousand times more difficult. This place was huge! Thank God Antonio was there with him, or he may have been searching for his destination for decades. Every last one of sixty thousand people had shown to pray on this most special of days.

Germany felt crowded. Noticing the nervous aura his friend was giving out, Spain put a comforting hand on the blonde's shoulder. This wasn't going to be easy for the German. He had been coming for centuries to watch the "miracle" that happened every year. When Romano had come storming into his room Sunday yelling, "The potato bastard is coming this year!" he panicked. Italy hadn't been able to dissuade him again. Quietly sighing, the Spaniard glanced at his German companion for the umpteenth time. If nothing else, he had to make sure the other wouldn't make a scene.

While Spain inwardly worried and planned for every scenario imaginable, Germany flashed back to what started all of this. Before he even thought of asking Feliciano if he could come. The time was World War I. Other countries were steadily being invaded as more and more land practically fell on his lap. One night he, Italy, and their troops were celebrating after yet another victory. Suddenly, his telephone rang, which was odd considering only a handful of people had his personal number. "Ja?" he answered.

Immediately, he was hit with a flurry of frantic curses, "Fucking potato bastard! Give the phone to my stupid damn little brother right fucking now! Do you hear me asshole? PUT HIM ON NOW! "

Was it him, or did Romano sound even more violent than usual? Sighing, he cupped the receiver and called for Feliciano as instructed, "Italy! It's your bruder! He says he needs to talk to you!"

An auburn head made it's way towards Ludwig almost immediately after he heard his name being called. Once Feliciano reached him, he met the German's irked ice blue eyes with his own curious honey ones. "Ve, thank you Germany," he said while taking the phone. "Buona sera, Lovino!"

"Feliciano! You goddamned ritardone! Why the fuck are you at that bastard's house right now?" the elder greeted.

"Lovino," Italy chided, being used to his brother's mouth, "you know I'm with Germany a lot because of our alliance.."

"YOU IDIOT!" Romano roared. "Do you have any idea what fucking day it is?" he hissed in to the phone like he didn't want anyone to hear him.

"Um… no I don't, fratello. I've been so busy, so I often lose track of the date," giggled Feliciano embarrassedly.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Italy winced away from the speaker. His brother sounded a hell of a lot more angry than normal. "Go and check the date right now," the other growled.

Feliciano frowned and turned to Ludwig, who was politely standing in the doorway. "Germany, what's the date?"

"April 1st." Ludwig raised an eyebrow, "Why?" All of the color instantly drained from the Italian's face as his eyes widened like he was just about to get his brains blown from his skull. The telephone fell from his trembling grip while his mouth gaped slightly. A look of absolute horror made home on his features. Germany was suddenly filled with concern and ran over to his friend. "Italy? Italy? What's wrong? What happened? Is Romano alright? Tell me!"

Feliciano jumped violently and picked up the phone, ignoring the muscular blonde pelting him with questions. "F-fratello…" he whimpered.

"How could you be so stupid, Feli?" Lovino's voice cracked. "Get your fucking ass over here this instant, or so help me Veneziano…"

"S-si, fratello. C-caio." he stuttered. The boy had a hard time hanging up the phone because his hands were shaking so badly.

Ludwig didn't like what had just happened. Not one bit. Even though he could only (clearly) hear one side of the conversation, the way Italy reacted to the date was, well, disturbing. Not even when he was wounded, or had been taken prisoner by England had he looked as terrified as he did now. He gently touched the Italian's arm, who squeaked and jumped from the unexpected contact. "Italy," he said softly, afraid the smaller would lash out like a cornered animal if he sounded too rough, "what's happening?"

Feliciano stared at Ludwig as if he just noticed the big German looming over him for the first time. He tried to collect his thoughts as best as he could so he could respond. After a few moments of silence he simply stated, "I have to go to Romano's house."

"What? Right now?" he asked confused.

"Si."

"No, Italy. It's too late. I'll take you to your brother's tomorrow."

"No."

"Italy, don't be unreasonable. You could be captured or hurt if you left now," he reasoned.

"No. Now," he said monotonously. Ludwig didn't like how the life seemed to have all but drained out of his ally. Even his eyes had glazed over with heavy fog.

Italy walked past Germany out of the room. Many troops turned to stare in awe at their Italian leader as he made his way to the front door. He looked like an animated corpse. The complete 180 of his mood had astounded the men. Feliciano hadn't taken three steps outside before a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him back. A cold glare greeted him, "You are not leaving, Italy," he growled.

"Yes I am, Germany," he replied coolly.

"This isn't up for discussion."

I agree completely."

Ludwig narrowed his eyes, "Italy…"

Lip curling and nose scrunching, the Italian snarled at his friend. He was in no mood to be fucking around with Germany like this. He needed to get to his brother's house. Now. Feliciano snatched his arm away from the other's grip. Ludwig's eyes widened in impressed astonishment. Since when did Italy get the strength to pull away from him? Before he could ask, said Italian spoke first. "Listen, Germany," voice quiet and filled with venom and malice. The German was taken aback once he realized that Italy was, well, intimidating. Hazel eyes were cold and scrutinizing while his lips were formed in a condescending frown. Even the troops who were close enough to hear shied away from the hostile country. "I'll say this nice and slow so it can register through your thick skull. Ready? I. Am. Not. Fucking. Staying. Here. Did you get that, or am I going to have to repeat myself?" he snidely ended.

What… did Italy just say to him? Ludwig's patience snapped and he stared daggers at the smug little nation standing only inches away from him. He growled and shot out his hand to grab Italy again. The damn Arschloch would come with him whether he wants to or not.

In one fluid motion, Feliciano took a step back and aimed his gun right in between the blonde's pretty little eyes. Oh how he wanted to just pull the trigger. It wouldn't kill Germany, just leave a nice little reminder for next time. Instinctually, Ludwig froze. Just when the hell did he pull that out? Italy's eyes were dark. Murderous even. This situation just got critical, and fast.

Another gun appeared over Germany's shoulder, pointing right at Feliciano. The latter lazily met the blood red eyes of Ludwig's albino brother. Prussia showed no emotion on his vision. If anything, though, he looked bored. He wasn't angry, or scared, or concerned. Just bored. "Italy, why do you have a pistol pointed at my precious little bruder's face?"

"Because he won't let me leave," he answered in his same dark tone.

"Bruder?" Gilbert faced Ludwig, who was still glaring at Feliciano. Children.

"I will not allow you to le-" Germany broke off mid-sentence immediately after he heard Italy cock his gun.

In response, Gilbert cocked his own gun, still looking bored. "Feliciano-"

"You are NOT allowed to call me that!" snapped the Italian.

"Fine," he sighed, "Italy, what the hell's gotten into you? Why are you acting like this?"

"Because I need to leave, and he wont let me," he explained bluntly.

"Okay, and why do you have to leave so urgently?" pried the albino.

If possible, Feliciano's eyes grew darker. "None of your damned business."

"Alrighty then! West, let 'im go," he ordered, smiling suddenly.

Humorously, the two blinked in bewilderment and turned to the Prussian. "What?" they asked in unison.

Gilbert answered with a chuckle, "Ludwig, do you think Italy here would be acting like this if it wasn't important? Let him go do whatever it is he needs to do." An amused smile graced his awesome face. Oh, the youth of today. They're all too feisty and impatient.

With a defeated sigh, Germany let go of the auburn. Though, what annoyed him the most was how his irresponsible brother scolded him like that. Feliciano lowered his pistol and nodded at Prussia before running off. "Okay! Someone get me a beer! It's time to get wasted!" Almost immediately, the troops got rowdy once more and continued their celebration all night long.

On the other side of the house, Ludwig decided to mope in his room and drown in self pity.

"Oye, amigo. Are you all right?" nudged Antonio.

Germany blinked a couple times. How long had he been zoning out for? He shook his head a bit and ran a hand through his slicked back hair. That day was something he didn't like to think about. Those eyes still haunted his dreams sometimes. "Ja, sorry. I was just remembering something from a long time ago.."

Spain sat back in the pew, "It's not good for people like us to get lost in the past like that." A small frown appeared on his face as his green eyed dimmed. "To many old scars can re-open," he rested his hands on the back of his head, messing up his wild brown hair even more.

"I know," Germany replied curtly. The duo then sat in silence once more, drowning themselves in memories from times long forgotten.

Italy and Romano were waiting in the Papal Apartment. Books and Bibles were neatly organized in the bookshelf against the far wall. Papers and documents were scattered all over Il Papa's desk as the two open windows threatened the fragile disorganization to fly around the room with the April breeze they were allowing through. A king sized bed sat dressed in beautiful white sheets in the corner as a simple lamp rested on the nightstand. There were two chairs and a small TV on the other side of the room. Lastly, a extraordinarily intricate crucifix hung above the door.

Wonderful décor means nothing when you're on the verge of breaking down.

Feliciano was leaning on the windowsill, one hand propping up his head as the other rested on the ledge. Lovino was pacing a hole in the carpet behind his twin. They were both dressed in flowing white robes that just almost touched the ground. Necks were adorned with gold cross necklaces and vivid red stoles. The stoles were embroidered with golden boarders and twin crosses on each end. White berets sat lightly on their heads without disturbing their prominent curls.

The younger tried to entertain himself by watching the Swiss Guard outside. They were all perfectly standing at attention, not letting one suspicious person enter the building. It always amazed Feliciano how they could look so serious in such ridiculous outfits. Then he saw Switzerland himself patrolling and making sure his men were in line. A small smile invaded his lips as he watched the man. A black beret with a cockade sat on his blonde bob. He looked comical wearing that yellow, blue, and red vertically striped uniform. The arms and pants were just way too poofy to be taken seriously, especially when said pants were tucked into thigh high blue and yellow boots. Fierce green eyes and constant scowl made it apparent that no one should mess with him. Also, he knew all too well how to use the AK-47 (and other numerous guns strapped to his body) on his back with pinpoint accuracy.

At that thought Italy remembered that one night he was staying with Lovino. His brother said that Germany didn't like him anymore, so naturally Feliciano freaked out and ran right past Basch's house so he could ask the German directly. This turned out to be a not so good idea when the Swiss man took chase and tried to shoot him; he even continued to pursue him through France's territory! Damn trigger-happy goat loving chocolate eater.

Germany…

Why in the world did he insist to come? There was no way out of saying yes this year. No matter what excuse he came up with, the bigger man knocked it away like an annoying gnat flying too close to his ear. It was no coincidence either. Germany deliberately covered all of his bases before he asked Italy about it. There was no arguing that he didn't prepare.

The memory clearly replayed in his head. Ludwig had invited him over to his house for dinner. How did he not get suspicious? Germany even requested he made pasta! But he was too excited to see any underlying motives..

"Hey Feli," called the German after about ten minutes into their meal. The smaller Italian decided to make ravioli that night; it took a while, but the end result was absolutely mouthwatering. Feliciano was happily devouring his portion, savoring every bite as if it were his last.

Italy looked up from his plate to smile at the blonde. "Yes, Ludwig?" he giggled. From all the centuries of knowing each other, the two had established a first name relationship.

"Well… I was wondering .." Feliciano could hear and see the hesitation and apprehension of his host. His smile faltered slightly, but he kept control. Germany couldn't see how his body stiffened. He was too busy avoiding eye contract by staring at the Italian's nose. The auburn just had to keep smiling like an oblivious idiot, or Ludwig would back down and say something else to cover up his true question. "I want to come to that big Church service you do every year."

Italy couldn't hold his façade, and his smile dropped. That damn Krout had been planning this all along! Of course.. it's so fucking obvious now. He'd been so overjoyed that Germany had invited him over, he wasn't thinking straight. Germany had never asked him over to cook pasta before… and probably never would again.. Depression and hurt stabbed Feliciano right through the heart. He thought Ludwig missed him, thought his best friend just wanted to spend time with him, but he was dead wrong.

Feliciano's heart shattered.

"Hehe, oh Ludwig. You're so silly," he forced. The Italian would not let Germany know how much he had hurt him. A blonde eyebrow rose questioningly. "You don't have to come to that! I've told you before. It's no fun."

As expected, Italy's trying to dissuade him. It's not going to work this year, Feliciano. "I know what you told me, but I want to go. It would be an interesting experience," he smiled, trying to win the Italian over.

"Ve, Ludwig, it really is no fun! It's two hours of nothing but boring prayers and songs," he argued.

"I don't mind. Believe it or not, I've sat through longer."

Tsk. "There's going to be sixty thousand people there, Ludwig! You'll be crammed together and it gets really hot and uncomfortable."

"Feli, I've led hundreds of thousands of soldiers through the harshest weather imaginable. Compared to that, sixty thousand people not trying to skewer each other is quite comfortable." Give up, Feliciano.

"You'll be standing, and kneeling, and sitting, and standing, and kneeling, and sitting," he made absentminded gestures with his hands, "It gets tiring after a while and can strain your back.."

"You've seen my exercise routine. That won't bother me one bit," he smiled and acted clueless to the fact that Italy was raking his brain trying to think of more excuses.

Feliciano saw right through it, but continued to act out his part as well. Which was what now? Ugh, he was so annoyed. Right, he didn't want Germany to be unhappy. "What about work? You always have so much to do, and with everything that's going on I'm sure you must be swamped."

"I actually have most if it finished. It'll all be done by the 2nd."

Shit. He must have been working an obscene amount of overtime to be able to pull that off. Come on., what else..? What else? "Y-you can't drink any alcohol for a week prior to the Mass." Okay, that was a complete lie, but Ludwig couldn't prove it. It's practically fact that beer runs through his veins instead of blood. Gilbert even said so, so he's had to at least had one beer in the past two days.

Germany repressed a smirk, "Well, it's a good thing I haven't drank since Wednesday." Feliciano's eyes grew wide with surprise. Ludwig couldn't have gone four days without drinking. Sensing the Italian's disbelief, he explained, "I had a meeting with my boss Thursday and yesterday, so I couldn't drink. It would be highly unprofessional to show up drunk or hung-over."

"Ah, right…" he knew he was getting nowhere, "but… can you still go another five days without drinking? I don't want you to be miserable, ve.."

"I'll be fine, Feli," he smiled again. Italy wanted to shove a branding iron into his smug little face right now. "I've gone much longer without beer before."

That did it. Italy had been defeated. If Germany refused to drink his precious beer for the rest of the week, nothing else could possibly work. Reluctantly, he waved his figurative white flag in defeat. "Okay, Ludwig… If you really want to go that badly, I guess I can't stop you.."

A glint of victory shone in the blonde's baby blues, "Danke, Feliciano. Don't worry, It'll be fine."

That glint didn't go unnoticed, and Italy used everything he had to keep his inner scowl off of his face. A half hearted, "Okay," was all the little Italian could muster. Germany then took another bite of ravioli. Oh, that's right. Feliciano had completely forgotten about dinner. Though, he didn't have much of an appetite anymore. He frowned at his plate and played around with the sauce covered squares before taking a bite of his now lukewarm pasta.

As he watched his guest gloomily his ravioli with a fork, Ludwig felt insanely guilty. He didn't like seeing Feliciano like this, with his smile obviously being forced and his eyes dull and far away. No, he didn't like it one bit. It was necessary, he inwardly repeated like a mantra.

The rest of dinner was awkward. Neither tried to start a conversation, and both looked depressed. For the first time in his life, Germany finished his pasta before Italy. The latter only sped up after he glanced up and saw the other's plate clean. Afterwards, Feliciano said he just remembered that Romano planned to visit his house and quickly excused himself after a strained, "Thanks for inviting me."

No one visited someone at eleven o'clock at night, but Ludwig knew he did a very dirty thing to the boy and let him leave without question.

Once Ludwig closed the door, Feliciano burst into tears. He ran as fast as he could back to his house and dove into bed. Lovino had to know. Feliciano calmed himself down before calling his twin. Immediately after Lovino answered, the younger explained everything that happened. Italian was flying out of his lips and multiple apologies were mixed in with the story. As expected, Romano was not happy.

"What do you mean you fucking said yes?" he screamed.

"I'm sorry, fratello! I tried everything I could think of!" Tears were forming in his eyes again. Did his brother think he wanted this to happen or something?

"Did you threaten to put a hit on the bastard? You know my mafia would be more than happy for the work!"

"I can't do that to Ludwig! You know that, Lovino!"

"Well I can, dumbass! I'll do it right now! That fucker's been asking for it anyway!"

"Don't you dare, Lovino! I'll never, ever forgive you if you do!" Feliciano was seriously getting pissed off. He was already freaking out enough before his brother had to come in and make it worse. Didn't he understand?

"Feliciano…" he sounded hurt.

Italy didn't care. "No, Lovino! This isn't easy on me either! And you never ordered a hit on big brother Antonio when he found out, did you? No. Now you get to go to him for comfort while I have no one. You're not being fair, fratello!" his voice began to crack. He really didn't mean to go on a rant, but he just couldn't help it! He was so angry at Romano for being a hypocrite just because he didn't like Germany. That's bullshit!

But…Italy froze. Maybe.. I do want Ludwig to know. Maybe I want someone who'll be there for me when I need someone to cling to.

Maybe I need Ludwig…

There was silence on the other line, but Feliciano knew his brother didn't hang up. "…Fratello…" was all he could say. Italy slid down a wall and sat on the floor with his knees to his chest, sobbing. He knew he hurt his brother; Lovino was way more sensitive than he let on.

"Lovi… I'm sorry," he whispered in broken gasps, "I'm so scared. I know you don't like him, but I really care for Ludwig. What if he hates me after this?"

Romano sighed, "Feli, he won't hate you. The bastard has been your friend since the first damned World War. He likes you too much to for this to effect your relationship with him. Trust me." Those words sent Feliciano over the edge, and Lovino could hear him break down over the phone. God, he wished he could be there to comfort his idiot little brother. "Look, I'll tell Antonio to sit with the bastard. He'll keep the potato in line and make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, okay? And… I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said and I didn't know you felt that way. Forgive me?" Damn Feliciano for being his weakness.

"Lovi…" he sniffed, "Of course I forgive you! You're my fratello! I'm sorry too! I didn't mean it, honest!"

Romano let out a rare chuckle, "Yes Feli, I forgive you. Now go get some sleep. I know you're tired."

"Okay Lovi. Thank you.."

"..Feliciano?"

"Hm?"

"Ti amo."

"Ti amo anch'io, Lovino."

The auburn sighed. How many times had he thrown up since then? He didn't want to know. So much that he's lost a good few pounds, that's for sure.

The door opened and in walked the eighty three year old child of God. Joseph Alois Ratzinger, or Pope Benedict XVI, smiled warmly at his twins. His hazel eyes were surprisingly clear even though age brought innumerable wrinkles and bags to spread across his face. His Mitre was held in his hand, making his snow white hair all too noticeable. Adorned with pure white robes and a gold and black stole, he was the personification of holiness.

Lining up in front of Il Papa, Feliciano and Lovino respectfully bowed in greeting. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he waved for them to stand. "My boys, I appreciate your respect, but there's no need for that. If anything, I should be bowing to you," he chuckled.

"Sir!" Lovino gasped, "Don't say such things!" Feliciano uncomfortably shuffled in his spot. They were both using their extraordinary acting skills. The twins will always respect His Holiness, but they haven't truly liked any of their Popes in a very, vary long time. All they did was put them on display every year, disregarding how miserable it made the two.

They were only the servants of the Servant of the Servants of God.

"It's almost time. Are my sons ready?" he asked gleefully.

Hmpf, of course they weren't. They're never ready. Just let them go home so they can wallow in agony alone, 'kay thanks. "Si," they responded together.

Silently, they made their way trough the Basilica. Feliciano and Lovino were perfectly distanced from the Pope, the former walking to the left of the latter. Down stairs and through doorways, the trio trekked across the building for almost fifteen minutes until they were finally outside the last set of intricately designed doors. Benedict XVI looked over his shoulder. It's time. They nodded in acknowledgment.

Three sets of stairs were positioned on the left, right, and middle of the first platform. A hush overtook the Church goers as all eyes found their way to Il Papa. Some remembered the twins from previous years, and those new to the service wondered what was so special about them. The three descended their own staircase. His Holiness stopped in front of a beautifully decorated alter as Lovino and Feliciano stoically glided down another level to their own stations. By stations, I mean spots of the bare marble they had memorized and would be kneeling on for the next two hours. They did that so the pain would test their love and dedication for God. From the corner of his eye Feliciano could make out a blonde, slicked back head. But he couldn't look. He couldn't acknowledge the German. He couldn't even smile. The same went for Lovino. Two vivid green eyes were watching him intensely, but he wasn't allowed to tell the bastard to stop being a creepy pedophile.

Not that Lovino was a child or anything. Secretly, he was happy someone cared so much about him.

Once they gracefully began to kneel, the brothers pulled out identical crystal rosaries, closed their eyes, and bowed their heads. Time for the show to begin. The opening hymn was sung by all. Voices bounced off the walls and collided together, filling the room with something sounding strangely eerie. Ludwig sung along with a music book in front of him, but would often glance up to gaze at Feliciano. He and Lovino must have every song, every psalm, every page of the Bible -Old and New Testaments- memorized down to the very last punctuation mark. Germany knew the twins always had rosaries on their person and attended Confession every six months (in times of peace). He would often catch Feliciano reciting a prayer before bed when he invited himself over for the night.

The hymn ended and Mass went on just like any other. Italy was right, it was boring. Though, Germany wasn't surprised. He had never been one to sit around in one place for such a long time. Although, it's not like people go to Church to have a great time. Pope Benedict XVI read passages from the Bible, recited stories of Jesus' life, and encouraged everyone to join in song or prayer when appropriate. He really didn't see why his friends were making such a big deal out of this. To him, everything was perfectly normal.

Tough, he did feel bad for Feli (and Lovino, but he wouldn't admit that out loud).

Their backs and knees must be killing them. Ludwig had lost track of time, having forgotten his watch at home. Estimating, he would think it's been about forty five minutes. Even after so long, he had not seen either twin so much as have a muscle spasm. It was like they had turned to stone. This was something they had to be absolutely serious about and dedicated to. Is that why Feliciano didn't want him to come? Did the Italian fear he wouldn't take it serious enough? Outrageous. Germany prided himself in taking everything he does seriously.

Il Papa started another prayer.

"Lord, the day is already waning,

Stay with us,

Stay to illuminate our doubts

And our fears.."

Germany saw it, but just only. Italy and Romano had stiffened in their places.

"..Stay so that we may fortify

Our light with yours.."

Spain noticed too.

"..Stay to help us be

Strong and generous.."

Antonio gripped Ludwig's arm and gave him a harsh, but scared glare. He mouthed, 'Don't. Do. Anything.' The blonde was thourally confused, but turned back to stare at Feliciano.

"..Stay so that in a world

That has little faith and hope

We may be able to encourage

One another

And sow faith and hope.."

Blood. There was blood.

"..Stay.."

Ludwig widened his eyes in shock and horror as his body tensed. Antonio only squeezed him harder, reminding him of all the warnings he had gotten.

"..So that we, too, may learn from you

To be the light for other young people

And for the world."

Stay. Germany did just that. Not so much because Spain had a death grip on his forearm, but more because he was paralyzed with fear.

"Do you see, my children?" smiled the Pope, "God is speaking with us, through these boys. He is saying that even though our Mass is so grand, we are all still only human. We mustn't get bigheaded."

Bull.

Shit.

This is God talking to them? Ludwig forced himself to stifle a growl and pushed back the intense urge to punch the old man right in the jaw. His nails dug into the back of the pew before him. God is not doing something stupid like warning them about shit like that.

Without a doubt in his mind, Ludwig knew God was pissed.

Two of His children were suffering, and what did Il Papa do? Exploit them. Since Benedict XVI was German, Ludwig had been a little proud of himself. But now… now there was only hate for the man. Hate because he didn't seem to care one at all for the pair of bleeding bruders in front of him.

Pools of red stained the clean marble in front of Feliciano. It seemed to come from everywhere. Droplets were drizzling from his head as his perfect white robe was soiled from the thick liquid seeping through this left side. Ludwig saw blood flowing down Feliciano's rosary, reaching the tip of the crucifix, and dripping down to join its kin. The brim of his robe began to dye red as well, from his feet. And then, crimson tears streamed down his cheeks, some falling from his chin while the rest made twin tracks down his throat. Lovino was experiencing the same thing beside his brother.

Mortified, but unable to look away, Ludwig simply stared.

And stared.

And stared.

The expression on their faces never faltered. They were exactly the same as when they first entered. Stoic. No matter how much they wanted to collapse and cry out, they couldn't. Germany knew what this was.

Stigmata.

He couldn't believe it. How long had Italy been hiding this from him? Better yet, how long did he have it? Too long. Since way before that time. Since before Italy put a gun to his face and ran off. Before Germany found the little Italian hiding in a tomato box during World War I. Why didn't he ever tell him? Sure, at that time they didn't know each other too well; he can understand that. But, over the years they had become closer. Was he not trustworthy? A silent tear ran down the German's face.

An unusual aroma filled the air. Ludwig couldn't tell where it was coming from, but it wasn't exactly a bad smell. "That's.." the German jumped slightly at the unexpected voice, "called the Odour of Sanctity. It's coming from them." Tears were threatening to spill from Antonio's eyes. He's known the twins a hell of a lot longer than Ludwig, and even fostered Lovino for most of his childhood.

The only thing Germany could do was put his tail between his legs and grit his teeth. Feliciano would never forgive him if he interrupted. Minutes grew painfully long. Ludwig barely heard anything that came from the alter. Wasn't anyone other than he and Spain bothered by the steady stream of blood being produced by the twins? Do they really think this is okay? So what if they're nations? They may not die from this, but that doesn't mean they're not suffering!

Lovino was most definitely in pain. Showing it, though, was not an option. He did what he did every year: he survived. God, why do you have to do this to us? Me and Feli, we know we've done wrong. Millions of people have died because of us, but we always repented. We always confessed. We always prayed. And damnit, you know we didn't want to fight! So why? Why us? It's not fair! Damnit!

Lovino stilled. No, he mustn't blame God for this. His Father would never be so cruel. It's just the way things turned out. That's it. Besides, if he got worked up anymore then he wouldn't be able to keep up his façade. Breathe, Lovino, breathe. Damn, it hurt's so much! Ugh, no. Concentrate on the service.

"God our Father,

We entrust to you the young men

And young women of the world

With their problems, aspirations, and hope."

Well duh. God doesn't need you to ask that, idiot. Why do you think we're His children? That's what fathers do, they watch over and protect their children.

"Keep your loving gaze on them

And make them workers of peace

And builders of the civilization of love."

God can't "make" us do anything, old man. He gave us free will, remember? He wouldn't be a very good Father if we were all caged up like birds and weren't allowed to spread our wings and fly.

"Call them to follow Jesus, your son.

Help them to understand the value

Of giving their lives fully

For you and humanity.

Let their response be generous and eager."

Hmpf. If you really cared then you wouldn't let me and Feli bleed dry for your own benefit. What you said before was a lie. God isn't using me and my fratello like this. He knows all too well if He wanted us to forward a message, He would only have to ask.

"Accept also, Lord

Our praise and our prayer

For the young people who,

Following the example of Mary, the Mother of the Church,

Believed in your word

And are preparing for Holy Orders,"

God loves His children. Every last one. You don't have to beg for him to accept us. He doesn't care if we believe in Him or not. The only thing that matters is how we live our lives. Really, Il Papa, you can be incredibly blind and close minded.

"for the profession of the avenelical counsels,

For the missionary commitment.

Help them understand that the call

You have given them

Is always present and urgent.

Amen."

Il Papa, you need to stop saying "they" and start saying "us". You know you're far from perfect, just like the rest of us. The only thing you have that we don't is your title. I never liked that prayer. It's so… judgmental. Like he's telling God we're all failures and can't do anything on our own. Pisses me off..

How long has it been? Germany couldn't guesstimate anymore. He's been too busy worrying about the blood soaked Italians clutching their beads and acting like their complexion wasn't becoming ghostly white. Please, Gott, let it be over soon. Spain looked to be thinking the same. He didn't look too fantastic either. His perfect tan skin was pale and sickly while his warm eyes were now dark and glassy. The German shuddered at the thought of his own appearance. Probably looked like Death smacked him a few times before kicking him in the wurst.

Feliciano was dizzy. A gallon of lost blood does that to a guy. He fought back the urge to sigh and flop over. Listening to Il Papa was the only thing he could do to try and keep his mind off things.

"Holy Virgin,

You who lived in faith.."

Faith. Such a beautiful word. To me, it's more sad than beautiful. I hate to admit it, but mine isn't as strong as it used to me. Unfortunately, I doubt it'll ever be as vibrant as it once was. Please, forgive me. But ever since that day, my faith has been shaky. That day when I asked one of out previous Popes why God did this to me and my fratello. His answer broke my heart beyond repair. "Because God loves you." I cried for days on end, and Lovino did too. He couldn't hold back his tears for me any longer.

"..The difficult moments of family life."

Ve, he makes it sound like difficulties are a bad thing. I love every moment with my fratello. Even when he's yelling at me or hits me for something I did, I know he always loves me. And I love him. Besides, those moments make the happy times we spend together so much better! You should hear Lovi's laugh, it's the best music in the world!

"Secure peace for nations at war.."

Even I know that war will never die. It's funny really, the more people slaughtered, the faster war grows. Death is it's fuel. War is a constant in this world, and whoever hopes for everlasting peace is just wasting their time.

I guess I waste a lot of time then, huh?

"..And help the families of the world

To carry out their indispensable

Mission of peace."

…You're joking, si? Il Papa, you don't know the world as well as I do. There is never peace for long. Sure, some nations have been friends for a long time, but we've all had our differences sometime or another. You should see the World Meetings. It's absolute chaos every time. Nations will always want more, just like any other human being out there. We can make friends, and then stab them in the back just as quickly. Then, we can give them a band-aid and forgive each other. The cycle will always repeat itself. There will never be such a thing as worldwide peace.

Dreams. That's all they are.

A few more prayers, a few more songs, and a few more Bible cites. Done. The Mass ended. What now? Ludwig turned to Antonio with an anxious, questioning expression. The latter closed his eyes and sighed. "We must wait for them," he answered while looking back at the alter. Ludwig sighed. That isn't what he wanted to hear. The German's patience was running out. Feliciano and Lovino were finally allowed to stand; Ludwig winced as their knees cracked and popped in protest. Faces and bodies were both stained red. How they were still so graceful after all the blood loss, Ludwig would never know. Glassy eyed, a trail of crimson followed them as they ascended the stairs.

People began to stand and file out of the room. Lives had to resume and dinners had to be eaten. After a half hour, Germany and Spain were the only two left. Pews, the blonde decided, were not meant to be sat on for two hours. Actually, he's been here more than that considering the time he was waiting for the whole thing to start.

Finally, the doors opened again, and down walked two bandaged, exhausted, red eyed twins. When they reached the taller men, an awkward silence ensued. Feliciano stood partially behind is brother, staring at the floor like it was the most interesting thing he's ever seen in his whole entire existence. Nobody came to clean up their blood from earlier, now slowly crusting and turning an ugly shade of brown.

"So, bastard," Romano broke the silence, glaring at Germany. Dark bags were clearly viable under both his and Italy's eyes. Germany looked at the boy cluelessly. "Are you going to fucking say something, or just stand there like the goddamned idiot you are?"

Should he be using such language in this place? Whatever, Ludwig didn't care at the moment. "Well.. I'm not going to ask if you're okay. That really would make me an idiot. So, is there anything I can do to help? And.." he turned to Feliciano, who was still hiding behind Lovino. "I want to know why you never told me, Feliciano. Do you not trust me enough?"

Italy's head snapped up and he found himself looking at Germany for the first time in days. "Ludwig…" his voice broke as tears welled up in his eyes. To Ludwig's relief, they were normal, clear, salty tears. "I thought… you would hate me if you ever saw. That you wouldn't want to be friends anymore…" he barley whispered.

Germany's eyes softened, "Oh, Feli.." He shook his head and smiled, "You know I could never hate you. We've been through too much together for something like this to effect us. …You too, Lovino. I know we won't ever get along, but truthfully, I can't bring myself to hate you either."

Lovino glared, "B-bastard…"

"Oh, Ludwig!" Feliciano sprang out of hiding and hugged his big friend. Ludwig wasn't so good with these types of moments, but Feliciano wants comfort and far be it from him to deny the little Italian anything right now. Antonio looked at Lovino expectantly. The younger glared daggers, but still let his Boss hug him warmly. They were like that for a while; crying, hugging, comforting. To the surprise of both himself and Feliciano, Ludwig found himself leaning over and pressing a gentle kiss on the auburn's forehead. A little red seeped through his bandages.

"Ludwig, amigo, would you like to stay at my place with us tonight?" asked Spain. Italy was already going.

"Ja, that would be nice, Antonio," he accepted while Feliciano squealed with delight. Romano was still clinging to the Spaniard. Low, mumbled curses muffled in Antonio's chest. It was a little sad how everyone was so used to the Italian's crude mouth. Oh well.

Italy practically radiated with newfound joy. He didn't have to feel so scared and alone anymore. Not as long as Germany is there for him.

The four decided it was time to go home. That once pleasant Odour of Sanctity was now turning stale, while the setting sun cast gloomy colors of stained glass across the floor. They agreed to leave the bad memories to rot in this place and look towards the future with hope.

Ludwig and Antonio took it upon themselves to carry Feliciano and Lovino (causing even more swears and threats to erupt from the brunette) to Spain's car parked twenty minutes away from the Basilica.

"Ludwig?"

"Yes, Feli?"

"Thank you," he pecked his carrier in the cheek.

"I-it's nothing," he blushed. He would never, ever understand Italians. "Feli?"

"Hmm?"

"I'll always be here for you," mumbled the deeply embarrassed blonde, but he knew it would make Feliciano happy.

Feliciano smiled from ear to ear and hugged Ludwig even tighter.

"Aww! Lovi! You know big brother 'Tonio is always here for you, right?" gushed Spain.

"Gah! Get the fuck away from me, bastard! Let me down!" Even though his voice was loud, Lovino's struggle was only halfhearted. He knew stupid Antonio would always be there for him, but the bastard didn't always have to be so forward and embarrassing.

Soon, sleep overcame the twins. They didn't stir in the least even after they were tucked into bed back at Antonio's house. For once, their dreams weren't filled with nails and thorns and crosses. No one was throwing rocks or whipping them. Instead, there was just a warm, peaceful glow.

"I love you, my sons."

"We love you too, Father."

**.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.**

**Holy hell am I tired! **

**So, did my bunnies enjoy this?**

**Lets see, The date is the 15****th**** of Nisan, the beginning of Passover, which I've tried my best to convert to our own months, and got April 2****nd****? I have no idea if this is right, so don't bite my head off. **

**I love Switzerland. So, so much. How could I not put him in here wearing that funky Swiss Guard uniform? XD**

**I know Jesus was nailed to the cross by his wrists, but, like, all stigmata people bleed from their palms. Weird.**

**See! In the end Feliciano and Lovino never doubted God one bit! And he rewarded them with his words of love. Yaaay! **

**I'm thinking about doing an AU series based on this idea. I have mass other stories to write before it, but I think it could be Kick Ass! With a side of Hit Girl. XD!**

**Again, I cannot stress enough that I have not been to St. Peter's Basilica and I have absolutely NO IDEA what the inside looks like! Another thing I can't stress enough is to NOT GET OFFENDED AT ANY PART OF THIS! Caps lock means it's reeeally important!**

**Anyways, I hope y'all enjoyed this and junk. :D**

**Until next time! *Gives yow lots o' hearts***


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